


Cool Dad

by waspabi



Series: i'll see you with your laughter lines [2]
Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Future Fic, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-24 07:42:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1597013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waspabi/pseuds/waspabi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Cheer up, Henry Stars. One day these will be hilarious anecdotes she tells her mates for the laugh.” </p><p>Or, Maisie's first crush.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cool Dad

**Author's Note:**

> Originally from the tumblrs, cleaned up a bit and put here.

 

Harry’s watching X-Factor alone in the lounge when Nick finally descends from upstairs, all puffed-up and proud like he’s conquered the hearts of their children, which he may actually have done. Harry rolls his eyes. Nick’s looking _far_ too pleased with himself. 

“So I take it your recon mission was successful, Agent Grimshaw?” 

“Blech,” Nick says, sticking his tongue out, “Stop watching Bond with Roscoe, Harold. It’s polluting your mind.” Nick throws himself onto the sofa and drapes his gangly limbs along the length, Harry’s lap an incidental destination along the way to total sofa occupation. 

Harry pulls Nick’s knees so they’re not knocking into his stomach and passes Nick his gin and tonic. The ice has melted, but that’s just the price Nick’s going to have to pay if he wants to play teenage-whisperer. “So?” Harry pokes at Nick’s thigh. “What’s the verdict?” 

Nick grins, eyes sparkling behind his glasses. “Maisie’s in _love_. Hence the barricading herself in her bedroom all weekend. She’s _pining_.” 

Harry frowns into his glass of wine. “She’s sixteen!” 

Nick makes an _oh please_ face, mouth twisted into a smirk. “And how old were _you_ when you first started swearing your eternal devotion, popstar? Eight? Nine and a half? Four?” 

Harry wrinkles his nose. That’s… _different_. He’s not Maisie. Maisie’s his baby. He’s only recently become comfortable with Maisie being in love with Henry off the Go Leans, although Maisie has since informed him that they are _so_ lame and she hasn’t liked them since she was “like, an _infant_ ,” so. He may be a bit too late on that one. “Is she… Are they, like, dating? Who is it? _Please_ tell me it isn’t Amelia.” 

Amelia Roth-Harrison once coolly informed Harry that if he wanted to regain the youth demographic, maybe he shouldn’t release so much ‘boring guitar-based music’. Harry’s not sure his ego would be able to take it if Maisie were dating Amelia Roth-Harrison. 

Nick shakes his head. “No, their love is a love _from afar_. And possibly one-sided, although I doubt it. His name is Sam, he has _really_ excellent hair — she showed me about twenty-seven pictures — and he is apparently the most ‘empathetic’ person Maize has ever met.” Nick settles back and swills his drink, satisfied. “So, they’re soul mates. Obviously.” 

As far as adjectives to describe your crush goes, Maisie could have picked worse than _empathetic_. Harry chews on his lip and watches Liam give advice to a twenty-something in leather trousers on the telly. “Have we met anyone called Sam?” 

“Don’t think so. Ooh, god, look at Liam’s hair, that’s bleedin’ awful. Please get him to lay off on the shellac, Haz.” 

“Don’t be mean, Nicholas,” Harry says, although he kind of agrees. “So what’s… Is she going to talk to him?” 

“ _Talk_ to him? Harold. Please. No. She’s going to write about fifteen emotional songs about his jawline. She’ll also be sure to gaze at his face in English and ask all her friends if they think he was smiling at _her_ when he was talking about Romeo and Juliet last Wednesday, or if it was sort of at the room in general, because she wasn’t sure, and he might have been looking at Emily B? But Emily’s _so_ not his type, so maybe not.” 

Harry nearly laughs at Nick’s pitch-perfect teenage tenor but a little crinkle of doubt sits at the pit of his gut and he examines his wine glass, chewing at his lower lip. “D’you think we haven’t helped her be, like, confident enough? Or should I speak to her? She shouldn’t feel like she can’t —”

Nick snorts and smiles at Harry like he’s a very small, precious yet odd creature: like their son, perhaps, or their cat. “No, I think she’s fine. Let her have her megacrush. She’s writing a song about him right now.” 

Sure enough, the faint sound of Maisie’s voice trickles down the stairs, too muffled to make out any words. 

“She said, and I quote: ‘ _There’s something in his eyes that makes me want to take him dancing_.’” Nick puts a hand to his heart, thunking his head back until it hits the arm of the sofa. “Darling, beautiful child. I wonder where she gets _that_ from.” 

Harry flushes. Maisie’s much more artistic than he had been, but the sentiment is deeply familiar. “Oh, shut up. You loved it.” 

Nick’s grin is so warm Harry can feel it in his fingertips, laughter lines folding deep at the corners of his eyes. “Yep. I did.” 

Roughly eight million years ago Harry had told Nick which songs on which albums were written about him, and Nick had looked up at Harry like he was a minor god. Harry had always thought that one of the things he liked most about Nick was how Nick never looked at him like he was _Harry Styles,_ how instead he’d wrinkle his nose and roll his eyes and say, “Yeah, all right there, quiche,” if Harry ever sounded too up himself. Harry had liked that, but he liked the big-eyed wonder, too. 

"'Cos I'm very romantic, and also the greatest." Harry reaches over to poke Nick encouragingly. "Go on, tell me I'm very romantic, and also the greatest." 

Nick fruitlessly dodges Harry's attacks, groping for Harry's hands until he gets them both by the wrists. "Nah. I mean, you're all right, but the greatest? The greatest. Bit egotistical of you." 

Harry ducks his head so he can poke Nick with his nose, now that his hands are out of commission. "You're not fooling anybody, Grimshaw." 

Nick snorts. "Yeah, probably not. Budge up, Haz, I want to see this next one butcher Madonna." 

Sure enough, the next act does a very poor rendition of Material Girl. On telly, Liam shakes his head vigorously, but his hair doesn't move at all. 

-

“I don’t _want_ to go to the stupid Auction Evening,” Nick whinges, going through his ties with methodical irritation, throwing discarded options to the side. “Auction Evenings are for _lame_ parents, parents whose kids _hate_ them, parents who are _old_.” 

“You’re forty-nine, darling.” 

“ _Not yet fifty_.” Nick tosses a dark purple silk tie into his pile with a huff. “And doesn’t matter, anyway, because I’m _cool_ , right? I’m not a lame dad. No bridge and squash playing for me. I’m all hip and youth…y.” 

Harry eases his jacket over his shoulders. “We played squash last week, Grim.” 

“Barely. And whilst _drunk_. That negates all boredom.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“Anyway, our kids _like_ us. We shouldn’t have to go to this stupid event. It’s stupid. Can’t we just give them some money and fuck it? There’s going to be _live jazz_ , Harold. I cannot adequately express to you the horror of this prospect. Black tie and _live jazz_. And an _auction_.” 

Harry sighs. He’s not particularly wild about the Auction Evening either, but he has a secret mission to find Sam’s parents and get the measure of them. Maisie’s been looking particularly moon-eyed and Harry is only curious. It’s natural. “Open bar?” 

“Better be wide-fucking-open, that’s all I’m saying.” 

Harry snorts and adjusts his waistcoat. “We have to go, love. The Headmistress asked us specifically, and it’s a good cause.” 

“ _Good cause_.” Nick hangs a tie around his neck and stares down at it like the silk insulted his family. “Should’ve just thrown money at her until she let us skip this malarkey.” 

Harry turns Nick around by the waist and brushes imaginary dust from his impeccably suited shoulders. Nick has always suited — heh — a good tailored blazer. He straightens the tie and does the loop for him, ignoring Nick’s continued protests. “There. Very handsome.” 

Nick preens. “You’re not bad either, popstar. But _really_ , our avant-garde stylings will be absolutely lost on this crowd, last time I saw someone with a wide tie like it was 1984, nearly cut it off him with a salad fork —” 

The drive to Brook House takes all of fifteen minutes and Nick keeps his running monologue for the entire duration, spilling forth even as the taxi lets them off and they make their way across the wet pavement to the school entrance. 

“Not to mention how little I can _possibly_ care about blood pressure medication, do I _look_ like a doctor? I know _so_ much about Phoebe Roach-Levin’s back problems I could —“ 

Harry gently covers Nick’s mouth with one hand, stopping him in front of a large oak tree. “If you keep the whinging to a four out of ten, I’ll suck you off in the toilets.” 

Nick brightens up immediately and starts speaking through Harry’s hand. “Ooh, naughty of you,” he mumbles delightedly, and then Harry removes his hand. “Five from ten and I’ll do you as well?” 

Nice effort, but Harry knows Nick far too well by now for that to work. “Nope. You’d do it anyway.” 

Nick pouts. “I am misunderstood.” 

“Cheer up, Grimshaw. We’re going to go get tipsy on free wine and then you’ll get to live out your schoolboy fantasies.” Harry pulls Nick in close by the trouser pockets, leaning in to whisper, “We could be chatting to the Head Teacher, my breath smelling like your come.” 

Nick swallows hard, which Harry expects they will both be doing in about an hour. 

“Yeah?” 

Harry nods. “Mm-hm.” 

“All right, then.” 

Nick leads the way into the building, back of his neck flushed. Harry is a genius. 

-

Three days later, Harry is still feeling the vestiges of his hangover and Maisie comes home from school looking somewhat less than pleased. 

“What did you say to Sam’s mum?” she demands, tossing her bag onto the kitchen table. She levels Harry with a rather impressive glare she definitely did not learn from Harry or Nick. She’s all Ellie right now, from her akimbo arms to her furrowed brow. 

“Uh,” he attempts. 

“Dad.” 

“Have you seen Roscoe’s mer-horse sculpture? It’s pretty cool, huh? Like, it’s a mer-animal, and _also_ a horse.” 

“ _Dad_.” 

Harry scrubs a hand over his face. “Er… I may have, like. I just wanted to…” 

“Wanted to _what_ , exactly? Wanted to _ruin everything_?” 

“I just… I just mentioned to her that I thought you might like her son, is all.” Harry’s stomach furrows like a frightened hedgehog. “I didn’t know she’d actually _tell_ him. Did she tell him? Is that why you’re upset?” 

Maisie throws her hands up and makes an indistinct howling sound, storming from the room in a billow of curly hair. 

Nick pokes his head in from the next room, peering around to watch her disappearing back thunder upstairs. “Are we in trouble?” 

Harry turns his most tragic of expressions on Nick. Within ten seconds Nick wraps Harry up while making comforting noises. Harry makes his most forlorn sound, sinking into the cuddle he’d been angling for. “I embarrassed our kid,” he mumbles, wrinkling his face up in the hope that sufficient facial distortion will erase the past week of parenting. 

“Nah, we’re cool dads. Can’t be embarrassing. It’s against the law.” 

Harry pats Nick on the head. “Sure, love.” 

“Yep. If she doesn’t get it it means we are _before our time_. Obviously.” Nick pulls Harry’s face up to kiss him on each eyelid, and then the mouth. “Cheer up, Henry Stars. One day these will be hilarious anecdotes she tells her mates for the laugh.” 

Harry doesn’t find that thought as comforting as Nick seems to. 

-

As it happened, Harry did not ruin everything. 

Sam arrives just on time to escort Maisie to the park where their group of friends are meeting for photos before the prom. Maisie’s face lights up like birthday candles and they both go pink, looking at each other. 

Harry can feel the tears coming. It’s hopeless. He’ll just have to let it happen, like the plague. His nose starts to clog and his eyes back up and all he can think about is taking baby Maisie home for the first time and how her tiny hand gripped his finger the whole way. “We need to take more pictures,” he says, a little choked, and motions to his camera. 

Maisie fixes him with a panicked look, dark-lipsticked mouth in a tense line. “Dad,” she warns. “We have taken like twelve billion. We have to get to the park really soon.” 

“But you just look so beautiful, sweetheart,” Harry protests, chest doing funny wibbles all over the place. Maisie’s so _big_. When did she get so grown-up? She’s so smart, and self-possessed, and beautiful, and he’s so _proud_ of her. He wants to go running down the streets of London telling everyone how amazing his daughter is, and he doesn’t know how it happened, and she’s the most amazing person. He hugs Maisie, trying not to mess up her dress. “You’re all grown-up, love, when did that happen?” 

Maisie’s date coughs awkwardly. Harry ignores him. 

“Mysterious passage of time,” Nick says cheerfully, patting Sam on the shoulder. “Should have seen this one earlier, though. Fashion stylings all by House of Grimshaw, obviously. Looked like a young fresh aubergine this time yesterday, I’ll have you know.” 

“ _Dad_ ,” says Maisie, breaking free of Harry’s arm to hit Nick over the head with her bag. She laughs, rolling her eyes at Sam. “Okay, we really have to go now, guys.” 

Harry nods, eyes all blurry and he does his best to keep his emotions secret. 

“Oh my god, Dad, calm _down_ , I’m going to prom, not, like, the war, or whatever.” 

Harry is maybe not very good at keeping his emotions secret. Nick tucks him under his arm and squeezes. “Don’t mind your dad, Maize. He’ll be fine with liberal application of a romantic comedy and some nice pizza.”

Nick pulls Harry to the side forcibly, pushing the camera down so it can no longer capture the moment Harry’s baby girl grew up and left him behind. 

“You look nice,” Sam says nervously, smiling at Maisie. 

“You look nice too,” Maisie says back, biting her lip. 

“Have a lovely time, both of you, we’ll see you later,” Nick says, thumb stroking over Harry’s shoulder. “Maisie, have him home by a reasonable hour, won’t you?” 

Maisie and Sam smile and wave tolerantly, as Harry takes another photo. 

Sam’s voice filters up the steps as they go out to the street. “Your parents are a bit weird, aren’t they?” 

“You have _no_ idea,” Maisie sighs back. “This morning one of them did a freestyle rap about bananas while the other one interpretive danced.”

Sam is laughing. “Brilliant.” 

Nick shuts the door. “That freestyle rap was _genius_. She doesn’t appreciate innovation.” 

Harry sniffs and wipes at his nose. “She’s going to leave soon,” he says, missing Maisie desperately already, “She’ll be off to uni and then she’ll be a grown-up and she won’t be at home anymore.” 

“She’s _sixteen_.” Nick laughs, turning Harry so he can kiss his wet cheeks. “She’s sixteen, and you’re ridiculous.” 

“She’s so grown-up. She’s so mature. She’s so smart, and talented, and she’s a _real person_. Nick, when did that happen?” 

“Maybe you just did a good job raising her, Harold.” 

“ _We_ did,” Harry corrects, reflexively. Nick ducks his head. 

“ _We_ did, whatever.” Nick tugs him back out of the entranceway. “C’mon, love. Let’s have some pizza and watch summat terrible and animated with our other, less tall child.” 

“We’re going to stay up until she gets home, right?” 

“Probably. Unless she goes to that all-night rave she told me about, y’know, the one with the dangerous drug use and the crime.” 

“ _Grim_.” 

Nick jabs Harry in the side with a sharp elbow, snorting. “Hey, don’t judge her teenage rebellion, popstar, it’s a very important stage of life. This is not very self-actualised of you.” 

“I’ll self-actualise your _face_ ,” Harry grumbles. 

Nick grins and waggles his eyebrows. “Please do. I’m free in two hours after our son’s bedtime.” 

“Sexy.” Harry smacks Nick’s bum 

“You know it.” 

“Roscoe’s going to want to watch James Bond, you realise.” 

Nick groans. “Why couldn’t he like the Princess Diaries? James _Bond_. Matthew Fincham owes me years of counselling bills.” 

Harry follows Nick into the lounge, a half step behind so he nearly kicks into Nick’s calves as they walk. “Nick,” he says, slowly, “Have you ever considered having another one?” 

"Another what? Vodka? I was definitely planning on it." 

"No, I meant, like. Another baby." 

"Another... Oh, no." Nick stops in the hall. "God, I'm so old. I'm going to be so old. Do you know how many wrinkles I got from Roscoe alone? This is my death knell. Sound the gong of the decrepit and roll me up in a shroud or summat. Can't be old and cool." 

"Could be Keith Richards." 

"Mm, yes, could be poorly-preserved with an earring, thank you, Harold. Cheer me right up." 

Harry thumps Nick's back heartily. "I'll lend you a nice one." 

"Couldn't you just hope that Maisie gets sixteen and pregnant tonight? Condoms aren't entirely effective, you know!" 

Now it's Harry's turn to stop short, frantically going over in his head every time he'd had long conversations with Maisie that she proclaimed to be horrible and excruciating. "I... No, we've taught her about protection. She knows the different methods. Right?" Nick had sat next to him and looked about as mortified as their daughter, groaning and burying his head in his hands when Harry started talking about diseases. 

Nick looks ready to either laugh or relive those embarrassing memories but he's interrupted by Roscoe appearing in the hall, arms akimbo. 

"Dads. You're  _late,_ " he says, frowning. 

Harry wraps an arm around Nick's waist. "I'm sorry, love. We're ready now." 

"I'm not mad," Roscoe sighs, turning on his heel to lead them into the lounge. "I'm just disappointed." 

Harry bites on Nick's shoulder to keep from laughing aloud. 

Of course, Roscoe wants to watch Bond again. Nick falls asleep a minute and a half into the opening montage and doesn't even stir during the explosions, too busy snoring into Harry's neck. 

"Stop worrying about Maisie." Roscoe reaches over Harry to get the bowl of crisps from Nick's slack lap. His eyes don't stray from the screen. Roscoe does not have Nick's attention span problem.

"I wasn't worrying. I was watching the film!" 

"Uh-huh." Roscoe pops a handful of crisps into his mouth, eyes fixated on Bond as he drives a convertible away from some town in which he had saved some diamonds, or a girl, or a country, maybe. Or possibly someone was after him. Like, a girl. Or a country.

So maybe he had been worrying. Harry shifts Nick's weight a bit, glancing down to watch his eyelashes flutter as he dozes. On the telly screen something explodes, and the colour lights his face gold. Harry reaches out to pull Roscoe into his other side, ignoring his mumbles of protest. "All right, love. I'll stop worrying. Now, tell me what's going on with MI5." 

Maisie comes home at eleven and finds them all asleep in front of the end credits. She ties their shoelaces together. Harry blames her father. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> if you are interested, there are a few laughter lines extras living on [my tumblr](http://waspabi.tumblr.com/masterlist).


End file.
